Chapter Twenty: Tempt the Flame
Katherine was restless.
The guest house was quiet, the fire burning low, and both Kate and Rosalie were lounging with her on the couch—Rosalie lazily stroking her thigh, Kate curled beside her with fingers tangled in her hair. Their touches were tender, casual… but loaded.
Katherine felt it in every movement. Every stolen glance. Every subtle shift in tension.
They were close.
Close to marking her.
Their scent was stronger. Their eyes darker. Their hands just a little more possessive.
And she wanted it.
God, did she want it.
But her mind wouldn't stop screaming.
What would it mean? What would it change? Would she lose herself? Would she lose control?
And the worst part?
She craved the danger in them. Craved the version of Kate that blocked the door and growled with fury. Craved the sharp steel in Rosalie's eyes when someone got too close. That terrifying, dominant power they barely kept on a leash.
And she wanted to see it again.
To push it.
To feel it curl around her throat and remind her that she belonged somewhere.
She suddenly stood, pulling away from both of them.
"I need some air."
Kate looked up, concerned. "Want us to come with—?"
"No," Katherine said too quickly. "I'm just going for a walk. I need… space."
Rosalie sat forward slowly. "Katherine…"
"I'll be fine," she said, already reaching for her jacket. "I'll stay on the property."
It was a lie.
The second the door closed behind her, she ran.
Faster than any human could. Faster than she had in months.
She sprinted through the snow-dusted trees, her breath sharp in the air, her boots pounding the earth. It was around 9pm, and the bar in town was still open. Lights glowed faintly in the distance. She didn't hesitate.
Katherine burst through the door like a storm.
She didn't go to a table. She didn't look for anyone.
She walked straight to the bar and said, "Three shots of whiskey, please."
The bartender didn't question her.
The burn of the first shot lit her chest on fire. The second calmed her nerves. By the third, Jake had noticed her.
"Well, look who decided to come out and play again," he said, sliding onto the stool beside her with a cocky grin. "Didn't think you'd be allowed out on your own."
Katherine scoffed, tossing back her hair. "I don't need anyone's permission."
Jake raised a brow, amused. "Could've fooled me—with the way they were all over you last time."
Katherine rolled her eyes, grabbing another shot. "They're not my babysitters. And I'm not anyone's possession."
He leaned in a little too close. "Then prove it."
She shot him a look that made most men back off.
He didn't.
"C'mon. My friends are in the back. Come hang out."
She followed him.
Not because she cared.
Because she wanted to feel normal.
They drank.
Laughed.
Danced like the night owed them something.
The music pounded through the floor, bass vibrating in Katherine's chest as she let herself be pulled into the blur. She let Jake twirl her through the crowd, let some stranger press a drink into her hand without asking what it was. Her heels clicked across sticky floors, her hair wild, her cheeks flushed. People watched her—wanted her—and none of them knew who she really was.
That was the best part.
No mate bond. No destiny. No pressure.
Just lust and sweat and fire.
At one point, she and Jake disappeared into the bathroom—the one with the broken lock and the cracked mirror. He dug into his jacket pocket and laid out a thin line of white powder on the back of his phone. Katherine stared at it for a second, then took the rolled-up bill he handed her without a word.
The burn up her nose hit fast, sharp and electric. Her head snapped back, eyes watering, heart racing—and she grinned.
"Feel better?" Jake asked, voice low, leaning against the sink with that cocky, punchable smirk.
Katherine licked her lips, the burn still tingling in her nose, and stepped in close—so close their bodies almost touched. Her voice was a purr, full of promise she never intended to keep.
"Not even close," she murmured.
She tilted her head, eyes locked on his, her lips hovering a breath away from his. Jake leaned in, expecting the kiss—expecting her to give him what he thought she'd been teasing all night.
And then, at the last second, Katherine smiled wickedly, pressed two fingers to his cheek, and pushed his face gently to the side.
"Mm-mm," she whispered, biting back a laugh. "You don't get that prize, sweetheart."
Before he could recover, she turned on her heel and sauntered out of the bathroom—shoulders back, chin high, smoke and adrenaline still humming in her blood.
She didn't look back.
Didn't need to.
Because for a moment, she was the one in control.
And that was better than any high.
Back in the bar, she smoked something passed to her by a stranger whose name she didn't ask for. Something that tasted sweet and made her limbs feel like silk. She laughed at jokes she didn't understand. She danced with strangers who didn't touch her like they owned her.
She was wanted for her body, her face, her charm—not because some supernatural force had tied her to someone else's soul.
For a few hours, she let herself forget.
She let herself be reckless.
But when the lights flickered and the bar began to close, she stumbled toward the coat rack, breathless and slightly swaying. Her head buzzed with smoke and speed and tequila, and her heart still hadn't slowed down from the line in the bathroom.
She grabbed her coat and slipped out the door without saying goodbye.
The cold night air hit her like a slap—harsh and sobering.
Jake followed.
"You heading home?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"You could come to my place," he offered with a crooked grin. "I've got better booze. And fewer rules."
She shook her head, her tone dry. Final. "Not interested."
Jake's expression faltered for a second—but only a second—before that smug grin returned, sharper now, entitled.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the liquor on his breath. "Come on," he said, voice low and cocky. "Don't pretend you didn't want me back there."
Katherine's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't pretending. I don't want you."
But he didn't back off.
Instead, he reached out, hand brushing her hip like he had a right to her. "You're just playing hard to get. All that teasing? You can't expect a guy to believe you weren't asking for it."
She froze—just for a second.
Then his other hand slid toward her waist, fingers tightening, and something inside her snapped.
She shoved his arm off. "Touch me again, and you'll regret it."
Jake didn't listen.
He laughed. "You think you're scary, babe? I've dealt with girls like you—mouthy, full of attitude, think you're better than everyone else just because you're hot."
And then he grabbed her wrist.
Hard.
That was it.
The fire that had been simmering inside her all night—rage, hunger, defiance—exploded.
She moved before she could think, before she could stop herself.
And Jake had no idea of the predator he'd just provoked.
She grabbed Jake by the throat and slammed him back against the wall before he could blink, the impact rattling through the alleyway. Her eyes turned pitch black, hunger blazing behind them.
"Did you think I was joking?" she growled, voice low and deadly.
Then a twisted smile curved across her lips as she stared into his wide, terrified eyes.
"I mean, I did buy you some drinks. Seems rude not to take something in return."
Jake gasped, clawing at her wrist, trying to speak—but it was too late.
She sank her fangs into his throat, sharp and clean, and the moment his blood hit her tongue, the world lit up.
Hot. Electric. Alive.
Every nerve in her body sang. His panic, his adrenaline, the heat of his life—she drank it all in, feeding greedily, the thrum of power pulsing stronger with every beat of his failing heart.
By the time she dropped him, he was limp.
Useless.
Just another mistake who thought she was prey.
His body crumpled to the ground at her feet, lifeless.
She exhaled, chest rising and falling in slow, satisfied waves. Her veins thrummed with energy. Her skin buzzed with heat. The high was immediate and addictive.
She felt like herself again.
No rules. No bond. No guilt.
Just blood and power and silence.
She looked down at the body, completely unbothered, then straightened her jacket and wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Should've listened," she muttered matter of factly.
Then she turned on her heel and walked into the night—body lighter, head clear, hunger quiet for now.
She didn't feel guilty.
She felt like she was on the best high ever.
Katherine didn't run.
She didn't flinch.
She walked—confidently—back toward the house, each step crunching through the snow, the cold air biting at her cheeks and lungs. But she barely felt it. Not through the heat still coursing through her body.
She was beaming.
Her lips were still tingling from the kill. Her skin buzzed like a live wire. The taste of Jake's blood lingered on her tongue—metallic, vibrant, alive.
She hadn't just taken his life.
She had taken back her power.
Every step felt lighter. Like she was made of fire and smoke and something more dangerous than even she had wanted to admit. There was no guilt. No second-guessing. Just the afterglow of pure, unfiltered freedom.
And God, was it thrilling.
Kate and Rosalie were going to be furious.
They would smell him the second she walked through the door. His scent on her skin. They would know exactly where she'd gone, exactly what line she'd crossed.
And the twisted part of her?
The one that always danced too close to the edge?
It wanted them to be angry.
She craved their fury. Their control. The way their dominance made her feel small, possessed, claimed. She wanted to see their eyes go black. Wanted to feel their hands on her—not gentle, not careful—but unrelenting.
She smiled to herself, lips curving into something wicked as she pulled a joint from her jacket pocket and lit it with a slow, practiced flick of her lighter.
The smoke curled around her face as she took a long drag, holding it in her lungs before exhaling into the cold night air.
She always knew how to liven up a party.
And tonight?
She was just getting started.